


well i believe in this heart of mine

by pinkhearteyes



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Boners, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Smoking, Underage Drinking, just lots of emotions, richie is in love :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:54:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkhearteyes/pseuds/pinkhearteyes
Summary: It’s the summer of '89 when Eddie first talks about their previous summer, to him.Eddie makes Richie mixtapes for Christmas, kisses him for New Year's (maybe?). Richie likes The Beatles, but can't remember ever mentioning it to Eddie. It gets him thinking. Eddie is the prettiest person Richie knows. His car radio doesn't work, until Richie fixes it, and interrupts Eddie while doing so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so i've done my research and i know richie's birthday is in march. in this one, it's in december. i wanna thank my amazing friend ari for reading this when no one else did, a month back. it's been in my notes since then!!

It’s the summer of '89 when Eddie first talks about their previous summer, to him. They’ve all laid on towels in the warm sand for the entire day, but it's when their friends leave them for dinners and family gatherings, and they are left alone at the beach, that Eddie speaks up. he's fiddling with the fanny pack beside him. Beverly has left her little radio for them to borrow, and richie can make out the faint sound of 'Love Schack’ by the B-52s playing. Eddie hates the song, and is sure to tell Richie just that, every time it comes on. Richie usually ignores him, and sings along loudly until Eddie’s stern expression inevitably cracks.

"Do you sometimes wish last summer hadn't happened?"

There is a slight tremble in his voice, and Richie thinks, Eddie is one of the bravest boys he knows. If not the bravest. 

Richie leans back, resting on his crossed arms behind his head. He closes his eyes, and lets the sun paint his eyelids with golden warmth. Eddie’s laying close to him, closer than Richie would lay with anyone else. He loves his friends, but Eddie’s undeniably his favourite.

"I don't know. I guess. But at the same time, I feel like i haven't gone through anything like it with anyone. We're-"

"Connected? In a way?" Eddie seems as if he’s in a rush to get the words out, happy to finally discuss this with someone. They had never decided on not talking. It had just happened to turn out that way, all memories of last year and clowns, and poor Georgie, seeming fainter with every passing day.

"Yeah. That's it.”

Richie turns over to face Eddie. The sun's hanging low in the sky, playing on the water, glinting off the waves. Eddie’s eyes are closed to shield them from the glistening sun. Richie can’t tear his eyes from him. Eddie’s pretty, prettier than any girl he’s ever seen. It’s not a weird thought to have, is it? When Richie thinks about it really hard, Eddie reminds him a little of a girl. He’s quite small, and gentle. His eyelashes are dark and thick, and his mouth is a soft pink pout. His hair is still short, but it’s gotten longer than it used to be, curling past his ears, like Beverly’s hair does. Richie feels ashamed, suddenly. Eddie is his best friend, and very much a boy. Richie shouldn’t be thinking about things like this.

"Did you ever think you were going to like, actually die?” He asks, suddenly desperate to break the silence. Richie says it like a joke, sort of means it like one.

Eddie squints at him, like the question has an obvious answer. Like he's about to eye roll him and laugh it off.

"I worrried more about you dying, if I’m going to be honest.”

Eddie proceeds to toss a handful of sand onto Richie’s open lap.

"And how easy my life would be if that would have happened. Come on, you want to stay over at my house or not, dickwad?”

It happens fast, and Eddie's tugging his towel from the ground, shaking more sand on Richie, laughing. Richie is fourteen, and doesn't think too about much what it could all mean. He tries not to, at least.

Later that year, at Richie's house, as they're counting down to the new year, he thinks about it. He watches his father press a rare kiss to his mother's lips, and watches their equally rare, genuine smiles light up the room, much like the christmas lights that are still up. 

He watches his friends, scattered around the room. He hasn’t yet thanked his parents for letting his friends stay over, but he’s going to. It’s the beginning of a new decade, all initiated by little kisses. He sees the glint in Bill's eyes, when Beverly briefly wraps her arms around his neck, pecks him quickly. 

Eddie's hand is on the small of his back, suddenly, leading him up the stairs. It's ridiculous, really, how Eddie is much smaller than him, but still leads him up the stairs for surprises, like the one he can sense coming up.

"I’ve got a birthday present for you."

"My birthday was already.” Richie’s grinning, feeling stupidly giddy. Eddie’s fingertips brush under his shirt, and Richie’s cheeks feel hot. He could lift off the ground.

"Christmas then. Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”

Richie doesn't feel that much like laughing, when Eddie pushes him down to sit on the edge of his bed. He shuts the door behind them, and when he turns to Richie his face glows red from the light of the paper lantern in the window. 

Eddie presses a small, neatly wrapped square into his hands, and sits carefully down beside him. 

"Should I open it now?"

"What do you think? Yes!"

Richie pokes a finger under the tape and rips, carefully, mindful of the paper's nice print. He turns the casette over in his hand.

Eddie's voice is right by his ear, his breath warm against Richie's skin. Richie feels shivers down his back.

"Do you like it?"

"It's a mixtape?"

"I made it for you. Bill helped.”

Richie loves it. His thumb reaches out to point out a few songs, scribbled on the casette in ballpoint pen, in Eddie’s neat handwriting.

"I Saw Her Standing There.” Richie states. His favourite Beatles song. He must have mentioned it to Eddie. When, he doesn’t remember. That’s not what matters though. What matters is Eddie thinking of him, as he chose that song.

"I know you like it." Eddie says, his hand moving to rest on Richie's knee, illuminated in soft red light. 

The hand is gone as soon as it came, and Richie doesn't know why he even notices, why he misses the touch. He’s been this way with Eddie for ages. Touchy and affectionate. Richie’s a born hugger. He hugs all his friends, slings his arms across their shoulders, kisses their cheeks. It’s different with Eddie, somehow.

"It’s really good.” Eddie says, nodding in the general direction of the casette, and then: "Anyways, I’m going to make out with your mom now.”

It’s endearing, how Richie’s own jokes fit in Eddie’s mouth. Richie begins laughing, unable to help himself.

"The countdown was already, you idiot."

"Oh no.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

Eddie looks at him, his expression open and puzzled, until it isn't. He leans in too quick for Richie to react, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s dangerously close to his mouth, their lips brushing together at the corners. Richie feels heat bloom on his cheeks, is grateful for the dim light, grateful for how Eddie's walking to the door already. Richie’s heart is beating rapidly in his chest, and Eddie’s voice is almost hard to hear over the pounding in his ears.

"Happy new year, Richie."

The door is shut softly behind him, and Richie is left on his bed, pressing a hand firmly to his cheek, in wonder.

It isn't until later that night, when everyone's left, and he's listening to Bruce Springsteen's 'Hungry Heart' (number 12 on Eddie's tape), that he lets himself imagine what would have happened if the kiss had landed on his mouth instead. He feels shameful heat curl in the pit of his stomach. He presses his hands to his eyes, and breathes in, deep. 

The spring of 1990 arrives upon them, and Eddie insists they ride their bikes everywhere.

"Before I get my driver's license!” He argues. 

Beverly ruffles his hair, tells him with a laugh in her throat that she'll still get hers months before him. Mike is the oldest of them, but doesn't say anything. He only smiles, and shakes his head a little. 

The summer treats them all well. Richie will always remember the year of 1990 as the one where Eddie grew a few inches taller, and his voice lowered slightly. He went through a phase of embarrassing little voice cracks, they all did. Then, his voice got more even, but still soft, and became the reason keeping Richie awake and wondering some nights. His hair started coming undone, even more than it had before, curling wildly around his face. 

One afternoon they ride their bikes aimlessly, stop at a field. Eddie's wearing overalls for some reason, and Richie feels like sighing, daydreaming. They sit cross-legged in the tall grass, and Eddie pulls a crumpled-up packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Stolen from Beverly, Richie thinks. Or borrowed. Bought, maybe. It doesn't matter though, because Eddie's lighting a cigarette with careful hands, and passing it to Richie at first. 

Richie has smoked, once or twice before, so now he doesn't cough. Only pulls the smoke in, and exhales, grey smoke curling up towards the sky. Eddie hasn't needed his inhaler in over a year, but his hands are shaking slightly when he accepts the cigarette.

"You sure you can- ?"

"God, you sound like my fucking mother." 

”Yeah, yeah, fine. Can never be sure with you, Eds.”

Eddie glares at him. Richie pulls at the petals of a flower, watches as Eddie carefully breathes in, and out. He coughs, a little, and Richie gets nervous, thinks about how he's stopped bringing a spare inhaler with him six months ago. Then Eddie grins, through another little cough. He's fine. They're both fine. 

Richie thumbs at another flower, wishes he could make it into something, braid it with daisies and clover and place it on the top of Eddie's head. Eddie lays his head in Richie’s lap, and Richie has no idea what to do with his hands. He brushes a strand of grass against Eddie’s nose, watches him scrunch his face up, and giggle. Eddie’s eyes close, and Richie allows himself to stare.

A month later, Eddie turns sixteen, and gets his license. His mom doesn't buy him a car of his own, had been entirely opposed to the idea of him out in traffic, but had given in after months of Eddie standing up for himself. He doesn't seem to mind not having his own car, happily driving his mom’s old one to Richie's house as often as he's allowed. Often as they're having dinner, Richie avoiding his parent's questions as well as he can, because he's fifteen and answering questions doesn't interest him, he'll hear a honk outside his window, and his mother will clasp her hands together, and sigh like she always does. His father will adjust his glasses, and clear his throat, like he's about to say something, but Richie's grinning, and begging them please can I go for a ride, please? 

They usually don’t care enough to tell him no. They’ve never cared about him enough. Not his mother, at least.

One breezy evening in early August, Richie hears the familiar honk, and looks up from his peas. They’re having a late dinner today, and his father shakes his head instantly. 

"No.”

"But dad-"

"You’re staying home, and helping your mother.”

Richie’s protesting angrily, but then his mother is shaking her head. ”Let the boy go.” She says simply, and Richie feels a sudden burst of fondness go off in his chest, like tiny fireworks. He kisses them both on the cheek before leaving, something he never does. 

Eddie is leaning against the hood of his car, squinting at the sun, low in the sky, as Richie approaches him.

"Thought you'd never fucking show up."

"You shouldn't be surprised, showing up uninvited.”

"I’m always welcome here.”

The sunset warms Richie's bones, and the night turns out to be starry and all theirs. They're parked near the quarry when Eddie first poses the question.

"Have you ever liked someone?" He’s looking out the window, and the questions seems thrown out to no one in particular, even if they are the only ones in the car. 

”Ask your mom, Eds. I think she’s able to give a little more insight into just how much we like each other.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh nearly enough at the joke. Only an amused snort. Then, he’s serious again. 

”You know what I mean, Richie. Have you ever been in love?”

Richie is stubbornly fiddling with the radio, blatantly having shut out Eddie's attempts at trying to convice him it's been broken for a while.

"I don't know, Eds" he says. His heart had dropped a little at Eddie’s question. Still, he was not really paying attention to anything outside of his fingers and the buttons.

Eddie lets out a considerate little ”Oh”, and then:

"But you have like wanted to kiss people?"

Richie stops working the buttons, for a second, and thinks. He thinks of shiny brown curls and warm golden skin, and Eddie's soft pink mouth. He has wanted to kiss people, someone in particular, and it scares the shit out of him.

"Of course. Why do you want to know?"

"No reason.”

Richie lets him be, goes back to the radio. He figures if Eddie has something important to say he will, eventually. 

After a few beats of comfortable silence, Eddie sighs.

"Do you think it's wrong-"

At the same moment Richie gets the radio working, with a shouted "Yes!", and the sound of music fills the car suddenly, awful and too loud, but they're laughing. Richie adjusts the volume, and then turns his full attention to Eddie. 

"Shit. What were you saying?"

Eddie looks at him, something in his eyes Richie can't place.

"Nothing."

They drive home, the radio still on. A new kids on the block song starts playing, and after a few seconds Richie recognises it as 'I’ll Be Loving You Forever'. 

"Jesus Christ." Richie mutters, and reaches to change the channel. Eddie slaps his hand away surprisingly fast.

"I want to listen!"

"Just because the radio’s working now doesn’t mean we should listen to shit music." Richie says, but he can't help but grin. He watches Eddie's smooth grip on the steering wheel. He feels a knot in his stomach as he watches his knuckles, his thumb lightly tapping along to the beat. The though hits him, sudden and scary. 

I’ll be loving you forever, the radio exclaims, just as Richie thinks: I'll be loving him forever. He’ll love him forever, in the same way, stuck in the same place, too scared of ever moving forward. He's been shutting out the thought of love for as long as he can remember. He remembers being thirteen and hearing the boys in his class speak fondly of the girls and their soft shapes. Richie began making the same jokes as they did, mastered the language until it rolled smoothly and fluently off his tongue, to compensate with the fact that all he could focus on was the soft curve of Eddie's neck in front of him as he sat in class.

"We're here."

Richie's eyes snap from Eddie's hands to his face, and Eddie looks back at him, his eyebrows slightly raised. He nods in the direction of the window behind Richie's head. They're home. He's home, at least, and it's past twelve, and he can make out the shape of his mother standing in the kitchen, overlooking the road. It’s not something he’s used to, his mother waiting for him. It’s something Eddie is more than used to, though, and Richie almost fears for him, getting home this late. Sonia Kaspbrak has never liked Richie, and she never will. If he was Eddie he’d probably lie about where he’d been.

"See you tomorrow?" Eddie says it like a question, and Richie doesn't know what he'll do with himself. He inches slightly closer. Richie feels his own heart beating in his throat, the air feels heavy and hot, pressing around him. The world slims down to the slight brush of Eddie's right hand coming up to touch his arm, and the way Eddie's bracing his hand on the steering wheel, leaning in a little bit, his face closer and there and his mouth so kissable and tempting.

The honk scares them, makes them both jump.

"Fuck!" Eddie exclaims, rubbing the back of his head that he hit on the seat, somehow. Richie's heart hasn't yet calmed down, and he tries to smooth the situation out by laughing, awkward and gentle. Fucking Eddie and his idiot hand accidentally honking the car horn. 

Eddie's smile looks dizzy, and Richie wonders if in any universe, his lips might have been on his own right now.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Richie catches a look of himself in the hallway mirror as he toes his battered shoes off. His cheeks are flushed and hot, his mother worriedly pinches them, and asks if he's feeling unwell, and gives him a mouthful for being out late. She’s probably drunk. 

He swats her hands away, and assures her he's fine. He falls asleep thinking of knuckles he recognises all too well, of the same hands cupping his face, leaning over the handbrake and kissing hotly into his mouth. It’s a miracle he gets any sleep at all, that night.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie accepts his feelings, sort of. Eddie throws gravel at his window.

School starts again.

And with that, a new girl starts in their class.

Her name is Jessica Davis, and her hair is dark and shiny, and falls softly over her shoulders. Richie catches Bill and Stanley talking about her after school on the first day. They're leaning against Bill's car, passing a cigarette around.

"You're technically heavily making out right now." Richie gestures to the cigarette, and Stan rolls his eyes, passes it to Richie. He looks around him, but there’s no teachers in sight. He assumes they’ve all gone home to husbands and wives and screaming children begging to be fed. Richie has never been happier to be fifteen.

"What do you think of the new girl?"

"She's pretty" comes Eddie's voice behind them, and Richie chokes on cigarette smoke, coughs into his hand. 

"Are you going to cheat on me, Eddie Spaghetti?" Richie says, too loudly, and Stan rolls his eyes again, always tired of Richie and his never-ending blabber. The way Eddie just shrugs makes Richie's heart sink.

-

A month of school passes easily, goes smoothly by. Jessica Davis doesn't bother them, and most importantly doesn't bother Eddie. 

One friday night Richie is reading comics in bed, his schoolbooks strewn across the floor. Bill has told him time and time again that Richie's getting too old for comics. Richie only shrugs it off, finds comfort in the fact that half his comics are borrowed from Bill himself. one stolen even, just for good measure. Bill deserves it, the bastard.

As he turns the page, finding a little smiley face scribbled in red ink glaring back at him, like Bill drew it with Richie in mind, he hears the clatter of gravel being thrown at the wall beside his window. A hundred thoughts pass through his mind in what feels like milliseconds. Awful thoughts of Henry Bowers, at first, before Richie has time to realize he had exchanged schools nearly two years ago. There was a possibility it was Beverly standing out there, asking him to climb out the window and join her, maybe to a party. It wasn’t something entirely unfamiliar to Richie, the things he and Beverly would get up to.

He opens the window, deciding it’s the best way to find out. What he sees, is a blurry Eddie standing down there. Richie remembers his glasses on the bedside table. The late summer night is warm, but Eddie looks strangely cold standing in his t-shirt. 

"Let me in?"

"Well well.” Richie says, just because he can. He is tempted to keep going, to layer his voice with his British accent that he still finds hilariously funny, even when Eddie shakes his head, curses under his breath.

"Just fucking do it.” Eddie says, and then: "I’ve got beer.”

”Yeah, just calm down there will you?”

Richie puts his glasses on and walks down the stairs, sees his parents sitting with their back to the door, wine glasses beside them, the TV on.

"Eddie's staying overnight." he says carefully, even though there’s little risk of his parents protesting. It’s Friday, after all, and they both like Eddie. 

His father hums, and raises his hand in acknowledgement. "Don't stay up too late.” His mother says.

Eddie has the beer in his backpack, that he dumps on Richie's floor.

"Your room is a mess.”

"Holy shit Eds! If you keep going like this you'll put Sherlock Holmes out of business. How do you do it?" Richie fires back, and shoves a pile of schoolbooks under his bed with his foot.

"Shut the fuck up. Do you want to drink or not?"

"Tell me how you got your pretty little hands on this, though." Richie grins.

"That's none of your business.”

It is though, a little bit.

Eddie gives him a can of beer. It’s the kind Richie's dad drinks. He could probably steal a few cans from the fridge without anyone noticing, or caring, for that matter. Still, it feels different, and special, cracking the can open in his room with the door locked, Eddie sitting down on his bed. 

It's his first time drinking after all. Unless there’s something Eddie hasn’t been telling Richie. Eddie's smiling at him over the can.

The sun has long since set, when Richie finishes his second beer. It's a funny feeling, being tipsy. He feels warm and at peace, and can't resist placing a hand on Eddie's knee. 

Eddie looks up from the comic he's flipping through.

"I stole that one from Bill." Richie says, only partly to impress Eddie.

Eddie laughs, and places his hand over Richie's. It may not have been impressive, but Eddie’s hand is on his and Richie has no time to be disappointed.

"God, you're so stupid.” Eddie leans into him as he giggles, and Richie fights the urge to kiss him. Like in the car, a few months ago, the air feels weighed down by their words, their actions. 

He had been sure Eddie was going to kiss him there, in the car. Now he's not as sure, but he'll be damned if he doesn't want it just as bad. He’s succeeded at his own makeshift version of accepting the thoughts that appear in his mind when Eddie is near. Warm, slightly shameful thoughts of kisses and linked hands. It’s silly. Richie is beginning to think he’s just as stupid as Eddie makes him out to be.

Before they go to sleep, Eddie curled up on a mattress on the floor, Richie takes his glasses off, and places them beside the glass of water on his bedside table. 

"Your face looks pretty without your glasses." Eddie says, from the floor, and Richie leans over his own mattress to look at him. His heart picks up speed, quickly, throbs achingly in his chest. Eddie called him pretty.

"Are you saying it's ugly with them on?"

"No. You can just see your eyes differently like this."

Eddie reaches his hand up, and lets it freeze in the air, like he went to touch Richie's face but thought better of it.

"Are you saying i'm always pretty then?" Richie grins, unable to help himself. He blames it on the beer.

Pretty.

Eddie's hand comes up to brush his face, then, but only for a second. Richie aches for the touch. He's only fifteen, after all, and this feeling is strange and big and fills his chest until he's afraid he might burst at the seams. 

"Whatever. Don't take the compliment then. Goodnight Richie."

When Richie's sure Eddie's fast asleep, he whispers a silent thank you, and falls asleep thinking of dark eyes in the lamplight of his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter!! lowkey a filler one but i hope u enjoy it just as much. the next chapter is one im very proud of!! thanks for reading <3


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween rolls around, and Richie fucks up bad.
> 
> He blames it on Jessica Davis.

Halloween rolls around, and Richie fucks up bad.

He blames it on Jessica Davis. It begins when Eddie drops his pencil in class, and she leans down before he can, picks it up for him. Richie watches her from his seat next to Eddie. She smiles coyly to herself, scribbles something down on a piece of checkered paper before passing it over to Eddie.

"Halloween party? I don't know.” Eddie says as they walk towards the door. The piece of paper is folded and tucked into the front pocket of Richie's jeans, after he confiscated it from Eddie. Richie isn’t stupid. He knows how girls act around their crushes. He hates Jessica and her dumb, obvious crush on Eddie. Hates her because he’s in the same position. 

"Fuck that. We’ll steal children's candy like we usually do and stay in watching Halloween again."

Eddie seems a little tempted at the offer of watching one of their favourite horror movies. That is, until Jessica waves at them from where she's stood in the hallway, surrounded by her gaggle of relatively new friends. Eddie seems to make up his mind.

"We don't steal. Also children's candy is gross.”

Eddie talks about the germs and drooling children, and Richie listens as they push the door open. Richie thinks of the half empty, squished up packet of cigarettes he knows is in his backpack somewhere. He sighs deeply and miserably. 

"So are you coming to the party?"

"I don't know. I’m having a hot date with your mom that same night, so..."

Eddie sighs, and elbows Richie lazily. "I won't go if you don't."

The Halloween party is that same weekend, and they all decide to go. Richie is grumpy about it, and Stan notices. It’s last-minute anyways, a postponed grumpiness. Richie has no reason to be upset. Stan sits on the bathroom counter, and Richie on the toilet lid. Beverly stands in front of the mirror, brushing mascara on her lashes. 

"Are you jealous of Eddie?" stan asks, and Beverly looks over at them, her interest peaked. Richie doesn't want to talk about it.

"No!" he sputters, a little too defensively. 

"Why would I be?" He adds, and Beverly and Stan share a look.

They leave him be.

The party is surprisingly alright. Except for how Jessica brushes against Eddie, asks him if he's having fun, if he’s got anything to drink. 

"I’m not really one for alcohol.” Eddie says, laughs. He accepts a plastic cup anyway, nurses it gently throughout the evening. Richie thinks of the boy in his bedroom smiling at him over a beer can. 

The music is loud, and it's good. His friends dance, and he joins them. When the songs are slow and gentle, and Eddie grabs Jessica by the hand on the makeshift dance floor, Richie leaves.

"Fresh air. Gotta give the girls a break from my good looks." He says, arm on Beverly’s shoulder. She looks at him with worry in her eyes.

Richie sits on the steps with two boys he doesn't really know, smoking. They talk about girls and he listens, but not well. He hears the music through the open window, and thinks about resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. He would need to lean down a bit for it, he’s gone through quite the growth spurt, Eddie’s head is level with his collar bones. After a while the boys leave him to sit alone. He pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, where they've slid down. He hears the door open and close behind him.

"What're you doing sitting here alone?"

What is he doing out here is the real question. Richie pushes his glasses up again.

"I couldn't stand seeing you flirting with her." Is what he would have said if he were braver. He is just a clown after all, hiding behind his glasses and empty jokes. Instead he says:

"It was getting kind of hot in there. I had to leave for their sake.”

He already used the same joke with Beverly, but Eddie doesn't have to know that.

They are quiet, and Richie crushes his cigarette against the concrete steps. Eddie crumples the edges of his beer mug.

"You really shouldn't smoke that much.” Eddie says, but there's no heat behind his words. Even if there were, Richie wouldn't care. He rarely smokes anyways. That’s what he tells himself at least.

"Whatever. So, did you get your dick wet?"

He doesn't know why he's asking. It hurts him more than a bit.

"We just kissed." Eddie scratches the back of his head. He says it so calmly. ”And she asked if I want to be her boyfriend.”

"Doesn't the boyfriend-girlfriend thing end when you're like, let's say thirteen?"

Eddie doesn't look that amused. He only tips his head back and inspects the stars closely.

"So, what did you say?"

"I said I’m not sure yet."

"Yeah. You’ve barely known her a month." Richie mutters. 

"I might say yes”. Eddie's looking at him now, gaze turned away from the night sky. He might say yes?

"Okay?" Richie doesn't know why Eddie says it like a question in the first place.

"Do you want my fucking blessing or something-?"

Richie stops talking in that moment, because it's the same moment Eddie leans in close, and kisses him.

Their lips brush together, and Richie's world feels like it's exploding. Like the cheap fourth of july fireworks that he watched with Eddie this same year. And now they’re kissing.

It's all that he's ever imagined. The soft press of lips – their lips, to be more specific - their knees knocking together. His glasses press against his face, but he barely feels it.

Where Richie really fucks up though, is by kissing him back. It could easily be explained away otherwise. a drunken party moment. Passion is warm and wet and confusing, like Eddie's lips against his. Passion applies to a lot of things and people, and sometimes comes in sporadic waves, sudden outbursts of need.

Kissing back doesn't. Kissing back is inexcusable. Richie kisses him back.

Eddie's lips on his move with a gentle, shy pressure, like he's close to giving up the second it begins, too scared to go through with it. When Richie kisses him back, Eddie's tongue pokes out to lick along his bottom lip, and his mouth falls open in a tiny breathless moan.

That's when Eddie pulls away, looking terrified. Richie curses himself for making noise, for fucking up. He can't help it, being the barely-kissed virgin he is - despite his jokes indicating otherwise. Something inside him shatters at Eddie's expression. It was Eddie who kissed him first. Maybe he regrets it.

"I-"

The door opens, and Beverly’s head pops out from behind it.

"Jessica is looking for you.” Her grin is wide, and Richie doesn't know where to look. He ends up looking down at his hands. He hears the shuffle of feet as Eddie gets up.

"I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine. You're drunk" Richie rubs at his temples. He feels Eddie's eyes on him. He doesn't look up to meet them. Richie knows he's not drunk, had seen him sip the same mug of beer all evening. 

Eddie closes the door softly behind him, makes sure to leave Richie slightly heartbroken on the porch, biting back tears. Eventually, he can’t help it. He lets a tear roll down his cheek. He wipes it away furiously, and lights a cigarette. 

Eddie shows up at school holding Jessica’s hand the next week, and things are awkward for a while. They both seem to play pretend, act like neither of them remember any of it. 

She tries to worm her way into their tight group, and Richie hates her for it. She's actually quite funny, sometimes, but he hates her. She kisses Eddie a lot, and Richie learns not to meet Eddie's eyes during the kisses, even though part of him wants to.

Richie spends more time with Stan, with Bill, Mike, Ben and Beverly. The following month he admittedly spends no time alone with Eddie, only seeing him at school and while they're all hanging out.

He misses him.

December arrives, and so does the first snow of the year. 

It's a Sunday and Richie's telephone rings. He's surprised to hear Eddie's voice in his ear. 

"You want to come over?"

"Sure."

The snow lays fresh before him, as he walks up to Eddie's door. The car is not in the garage, so his mother most likely isn't home. It rarely happens. Richie doesn't have time to knock until Eddie opens the door. 

He's in his pyjamas, looking soft and lovely, and Richie wants so much.

"Where’s the missus?" Richie asks, only a little bitter.

"Fuck you. She has a life too."

"Doesn't seem like it." He mutters back.

Richie feels his cheeks burn a little. He does regret behaving like a fucking brat most of the time.

Him and Eddie switch between TV channels, land on a stupid sitcom that fills the silent room with giggles, and the dam breaks a little.

Richie has missed this, has missed Eddie. It feels easy and comfortable until Eddie turns to him, asks in a careful tone:

"Would you kiss me again if I asked you to?"

Richie's heart is nestled between his collarbones, beating quickly, his pulse throbbing against his skin. He has no idea what kind of situation would be suitable for asking your best friend politely to kiss you. Richie shrugs, plays it cool.

"I don't know." He does know, but he can’t say it now. 

Eddie turns to the TV, and they try to forget this too.

"I’d rather kiss your mother." Richie fires back then. It's an overused joke, has been for years, but Eddie still throws his head back against the couch, sighs, with a smile playing on his face.

December means Richie's birthday, and he's finally allowed to take the car out for a ride. He calls all his friends, and the only one who wants to come with is Mike, showing up at his door in a denim jacket and a scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Be careful!" he hisses, as Richie swerves a little in an icy turn.

"Have you been spending too much time with Eds? You're beginning to sound just like him."

"I bet you don't mind.” Mike says, with a pinch to Richie's cheek.

Richie grunts, fighting with the gear shift, and pushing his glasses up on his nose.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Mike just smiles. A smug smile, that Richie brings to bed with him, that keeps him awake that night. He tosses and turns. What was that smile for?

He finds himself at a New Year’s party again, only a year later. This time it's at Ben’s house. Richie's newly sixteen, and again, Eddie takes him aside, gives him a mixtape.

"Is this going to turn into a yearly tradition?" Richie asks, holds the casette up. "You know CD’s exist right?"

Eddie knows. He smiles softly, points out a song, its title written out in a familiar scribble.

"Can't We Be Sweethearts?" Richie finds himself reading the title out loud, his voice only a little breathy. 

"Beep beep, moving a little fast, are we now Richie?" Eddie grins. Confidence suits him all too well, and Richie wants to, needs to go splash his flushed face with cold water. 

Eddie doesn't kiss him that night. Richie hadn’t really expected him to, but had wanted it, of course. He kisses Jessica in the living room. Richie watches Stan and Bill kiss on the mouth as a dare. He knows Eddie sees it too, he meets his eyes over Bill's shoulder. Eddie gapes a little. 

Richie takes it upon himself to kiss Eddie before the night is over. He brushes past him in the kitchen, but chickens out, his heart beating against his ribs. He is reminded of Eddie's face open and apologetic after the kiss.

"Happy New Year Eds." he says instead, and leaves it at that, the gentle brush of their hands as they comfortably coexist in the kitchen.

”Don’t call me that.” Eddie is close to him, achingly close.

”Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!!!!!!!! <33


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Jessica's - in Richie's head - unavoidable breakup comes in January.
> 
> Richie gets new glasses.
> 
> And this time, he kisses Eddie first.

Coming back to school after New Year’s feels sort of good. It's falling back into routines. 

Eddie still goes out with Jessica though, and Richie grows more and more impatient. He wants Eddie back, all to himself, like it used to be. Eddie and Jessica’s (in Richie’s head) unavoidable breakup comes in January.

A week before the breakup happens, Eddie calls Richie. it's a school night, and Richie's just put his glasses on the bedside table. Eddie sounds incredibly nervous. 

"Jessica says she wants to have sex. Richie."

"Now that's a greeting and a half! I'm good, thanks for asking!"

"Richie, get your head out of your ass. I’m serious."

"Are you saying I wasn't?" Richie gasps, playing offended. He's almost disappointed Eddie can't see his dramatic chest clutching over the phone. 

"She wants to- fuck."

"I don't see how that's bad." Richie says, but doesn't convince himself. Sex is bad, sex is official. It's a little like getting married and having children and moving into a house surrounded by a white picket fence. He doesn't want Eddie to fuck her.

"So, what's your problem?" He continues. "Can't get it up?" He twirls the telephone cord between his wiry fingers.

Eddie makes some unintelligible sounds over the line. 

"You know that's not it.”

"Oh do I, now?"

They're quiet, for a bit. The silence is loaded in a strange way. Richie can almost feel the heat radiating from the phone, pressed to his ear. 

"I say woo her. Go get it. " He makes sure to emphasize get. He means none of it. He wants Eddie to laugh and say he’d never.

Eddie hangs up a while later, and Richie lays in bed afterwards, pressing the cold plastic of the phone to his forehead. Eventually though, he snakes a hand down underneath the sheets, and gets off, guiltily, to the imagined thought, the daydream, that the reason Eddie doesn't want to fuck her is because he wants Richie, instead.

He falls asleep with a sweat-damp forehead and aa promise to ignore this, forget it.

A week later, they're sitting in Eddie's car, or his mom's car rather, in the school parking lot. They're waiting for Bill, had promised to give him a ride home after his after-school history study session.

"I bet he's thinking of boning Ms. Clarke right now" Richie says. He's sipping soda through a straw, from a big takeaway cup that he was meant to share with Eddie. Eddie had scrunched his nose up a bit, in second thought, and said: "I’d rather not.”

"Yeah, I bet he is.” Eddie snorts, and keeps rummaging around in his backpack, looking for something. Then: "I'm thinking of breaking up with Jess."

"I know I would be. I almost wish I wasn't such a genius, so I’d have to stay there with her every fucking Tuesday... What?"

"Yeah."

"Why? We all like her?" It's a bit of a lie. Richie isn't particularly fond of her. Would almost admit to disliking her. But Eddie seems happy around her most of the time, and even when Richie is both romantically and sexually frustrated, he isn't going to turn into the worst friend in history. He wants Eddie to be happy.

Eddie eyes him a bit strangely, like he doesn’t really believe him. Richie wonders if he’s really that transparent. "Yeah, it's not that.” Eddie says then.

Richie can't help the filthy smirk on his face.

"Oh my god. Can you literally not get hard with her?"

Eddie groans. 

"No! I told you already, dipshit.”

"So you can?" Richie punctuates his question with a loud slurp through the straw.

"Listen, if you don't shut the fuck up, I’m not telling."

Richie patiently waits, flops his feet up on the dashboard.

"It's nothing, really, I just don't feel like dating her anymore. She's really nice and all."

"Well, look at you Eds. What a noble man. You're giving her the chance of a lifetime. I bet she'll find someone to give her a good dicking.”

"Fuck you."

Richie holds back a you wish-joke. They’re a bit too childish for his taste. Eddie sounds less annoyed and more angry with him.

"I don't want to talk about this with you anymore."

They're quiet until Bill tugs the door open. Richie sloshes the ice cubes at the bottom of the cup around with his straw. 

"How was Ms. Clarke today?" he asks Bill cheerfully, turning around in the front seat.

"She was fine. I still don't get the civil war thing." Bill closes the door behind him, and Eddie starts up the car.

Richie remembers a time when Bill would stutter his way through sentences. They’re sixteen, and sometime after the horrible summer Bill turned thirteen, things got better. He speaks slowly, carefully. Steadily. Richie thinks, if he wasn’t so head over heels in love with Eddie, he might have a bit of a thing for Bill. Maybe he had, once. It’s a silly thought.

"Probably because you've been staring at her tits for an hour." Richie sticks his hand out for a high-five. Eddie shakes his head, still quiet, eyes on the road. Richie finds comfort in the small, amused smile creasing the corner of his mouth. Richie reads Eddie like an open book. 

Bill unenthusiastically slaps Richie’s hand from his seat in the back. It’s much appreciated.

"I disagree. You should get yourself some new glasses, Tozier."

Richie actually considers it. He’s had the same glasses since he was fucking eleven years old.

They drop Bill off at his house, and then drive to Richie's.

He feels a bit sorry, for behaving like a shit.

"I beg your forgiveness. Please join me for some tea in the salon, my good sir.” The British voice is a classic, and Eddie's stern expression cracks at the corners, comes undone in a laugh. 

"You're an idiot. I'm best friends with an idiot."

Richie grins, wide. 

"Best friends?"

"I’ll deny that at fucking lightning speed if anyone brings it up.” Eddie promises, and it's Richie's turn to laugh.

"Sorry though. If you feel like you can't tell me stuff."

Eddie's smile is soft, from the driver's seat. Richie apologising rarelty happens. "Asswipe." Is Eddie’s last word, before driving off.

Richie spends twenty minutes in front of his mirror, putting his glasses on, and taking them off.

He gets some money from his mother, and digs some out from underneath his schoolbooks.

The same weekend Eddie comes to his house. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and Richie's new glasses are tucked into his back pocket. Wearing them is still weird. They have thin, silver frames, and his mother had pinched his cheeks, said: "My handsome boy." In a voice that made him believe it.

Eddie talks about stupid things. How he hasn't yet broken up with Jessica. How he wants to skate, but knows his mom would kill him if he even laid his hands on a board. How he wants to make brownies.

Richie hums.

"I got new glasses.”

"Really? I thought you were going to be stuck in the 80s forever."

"Wow, Eds! was that a joke? I’m incredibly proud of you!"

Eddie rolls his eyes, for good measure.

"Shut up, put them on."

Richie takes his usual, clunky glasses off, folds them down. He slips his new ones out from his pocket, slides them on. Eddie does a little intake of breath.

"Look at you. You don't look half bad."

Richie’s heart flutters.

”You don’t look half bad yourself, mister.” He says.

One of Eddie’s hands comes up to readjust the glasses, the slightest, barely a hair's breadth. It travels up to Richie’s forehead, brushing a few curls from his eyes, tucking them behind his ear. They rarely let themselves be gentle, like this, with each other. Eddie's hands lingers, behind his ear.

This time, it's Richie who leans in first. Eddie breathes in sharply, again, and backs away slightly. He stays frozen, for a few seconds, like he's about to think better of it. Then, he gives in, and closes the space between them, presses their lips together.

Richie had time to get nervous, nervous as fucking hell. He had already started planning a hundred different ways to disappear completely from the surface of the earth, but then Eddie kisses him back, and he feels butterflies in his stomach, spreading to his chest. His throat feels tight, but he kisses back, takes what Eddie offers him. Eddie gives, and he takes, and takes.

Their lips move softly against each other, and Richie hears the wet sounds of their mouths, obscene, and loud to his ears. It's different this time. Different, because when Eddie licks into his mouth - with the feverish passion you wouldn't expect from a guy who can barely grab the steering wheel of his own car without having hand sanitizer nearby - and Richie inevitably makes a little noise in the back of his throat, Eddie doesn't pull back. He keeps kissing, deeper and better, and Richie keeps kissing back, clings to him like a lifeline.

Eddie's hand is still behind his ear, and it travels down the line of his throat. His fingers curl around the curve of Richie's neck.

Richie somehow manages to ruin it, again. 

During a particularly deep, hot kiss, Richie straddles his lap, their teeth clacking together clumsily. Richie feels himself getting hard. He is just short of seventeen, and feels like jumping out of his skin. 

Where he fucks up though, is by bringing his hips down, the slightest. Just for some friction, he convinces himself. Eddie makes a little noise, and one of his hands on the small of Richie's back, comes up to his shoulder, begins tapping at it.

Richie pulls back, a thin string of spit connecting their mouths for a second before it breaks. It's incredibly dirty, and Richie's jeans are tighter than ever. He feels like he could come if Eddie as much as laid a finger on him. 

Eddie doesn't. His lips are shiny and pink, and his face is apologetic. A look Richie knows all too well.

"Rich. I can't."

Eddie using nicknames is as strange as him calling Richie by his full name. He wonders, if in any alternative universe, Eddie would have let out a soft: "Richard.”

Richie shamefully climbs off Eddie's lap. Maybe now is the time to start rethinking the whole disapppearing thing.

"I’m not saying no forever. I’d- fuck.”

Eddie buries his face in his hands. 

"I still haven't broken up with her.” comes, muffled, from between his fingers. Richie feels his heart soften, suddenly. Eddie is a good guy. Still, it aches.

Richie wonders why they are so casual about this. There was a time when the thought of kissing anyone, nevermind a boy - nevermind Eddie, god - would have scared the absolute shit out of him. All he wants to do know though, is keep kissing forever, never breaking apart.

He feels hot tears burn behind his eyes, threatening to spill, with how much he wants it. Eddie still has his head in his hands, and doesn't see Richie hurriedly wiping at his eyes.

"Yeah." He sniffs, almost inaudibly. "Do you want to make the brownies now?"

The way Eddie's eyes shine at him through his smile, sad and apologetic, almost makes up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> more chapters to come!! like i said, it's been in my notes for ages. i'm just fine-tuning and uploading the chapters on here. 
> 
> title from give my heart a little break by summer salt because eddie needs to give richie and his heart a little fucking break.


End file.
